


Take My Hand

by Queenbookworm13



Series: Currently Unnamed SHIELDhusbands series. Suggestions are appreciated and welcomed. [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Adoption, Asexual Characters, Asexual Relationship, Family, Fighting, Flashbacks, Fluffy silly feelings, Homoromantic Relationships, Homosensual Relationships, M/M, Post Avengers (Movie), Pre Avengers (Movie), Relationship forming, SHIELD Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenbookworm13/pseuds/Queenbookworm13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fiction I wrote for a friend. Phil and Clint take a look back on how their relationship has formed and how they have ended up to where they are now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this for a friend. She's a big Phlint fan and she has been asking for something for a while. Being a fellow asexual (but a different kind than she) I decided to oblige her. I hope everyone enjoys this!
> 
> \-------=-=------- Indicates a jump of time within the current line (past or present)  
> =-------===-===-------= Indicates the starting or end of a past memory or event.  
> If anyone is still confused on how things go (I've had some messages regarding this issue) please let me know and I will try and fix it. All mistakes are my own. I do not own the characters.

Phil Coulson did not believe in anything impractical. He was a pretty straight forward practical man. He did not believe in anything abnormal or of things which strayed too far from his work (which was sort of a stretch to say because his work was fairly abnormal and generally sent him in loops and twists off of any intended realistic direct path). Phil Coulson also did not believe in the boogie man; aliens from Mars; the Lochness Monster; parking in the handicap space without proper authorisation; and tea with milk and sugar.

No Phillip J. Coulson was a creature of habit 89% of the time. He used to claim 95%, but after a certain billionaire, playboy, genius, philanthropist came out of his garage and started saving the world, he’s had to make some adjustments to his daily life routines.

They consisted of getting up at 4:30 am sharply; running on a treadmill for thirty minutes, followed by two-hundred and fifty crunches, jumping jacks, and pull-ups; ending at around 6:30 am after doing a calming and energising hour long yoga cycle. Moving to the showers for a five minute rinse off, he would then dress for work, minus his tie and jacket, and making breakfast for everyone (a healthy bowl of plain oat-meal with a dash of milk and a tablespoon of sugar, plus a fruit of choice and a glass of milk), before straightening his tie, smoothing out the lapels of his jacket, giving Clint and Marcy a kiss and heading out the door to catch the 7:15 lift.

At his office he would make a giant pot of hot water for his tea, and go over paperwork until the 8:30 am meetings and debriefings. It was here were he generally had to babysit the Avengers, a team he was recently put in charge of, making sure that each of them behaved or left their weapons in their respective lockers or home. His main problems were Anthony Stark and Steve Rogers sniping at each other; stopping Natasha Romanoff from carrying out her threats; and keeping Bruce Banner from Hulking out and destroying another building…or city. That only left the minor problems: maintaining enough food to sustain a god’s insatiable appetite and being watchful of a certain agent’s ware bouts until he had been officially cleared for active duty.

Speaking of certain agent’s whereabouts, according to his watch they had ten minutes until the meeting started and only five of the six members were seated in the room. Phil checked his watch and turned to Agent Foster at his left.

“I seem to be missing one of my charges, would you mind watching them until I return with the other?”

Agent Foster nodded and turned so she would be facing the Avenger agents, all but one looking close to passing out or committing murder. Coulson stood and quickly left the room, dialling Clint Barton’s number in his phone. It rang a few times before he received an answering click.

“Agent Hawkeye, how may I be of service today?” came his quiet tone on the other end.

“Very funny. Where are you?”

“Would you like fries with that combo? Mayhaps a shake?”

“Haha,” he rolled his eyes and continued his hunt down the halls, peeking in every known corner or ceiling space the man had been found hiding. “Give it up and come down or you’re back on paperwork duty for the rest of the month.”

“Paperwork isn’t so bad once you shoot the machine a few times.”

“I’ll suspend you from the training ring and revoke your bow privileges.”

The other end was silent for beat and Coulson smiled, enjoying his victory, for he knew Clint was sweating bullets over that last threat.

“I’ll be down in three,”

“Better make that two,”

“Yes, sir.”

The line went dead and Phil raced back to the room just in time before Steve and Tony started throwing swings at each other.

“Ladies, settle down,” he said separating them and making them sit on either side of him. “You can have girl talk over doing your hair and nails later, right now we have trouble.” The two went to argue again and he held up his hands. “Special trouble. A new bad guy.” They shut their mouths and turned their attention to important matters.

A minute before Fury was due to enter the room, Clint waltz in carrying two paper cups and a bag.

He set a cup and the bag before Phil and smiled cockily. “See I told you I’d get here in three,” before going to his seat.

“I said two,” he reminded, giving him a disapproving look. “Paperwork duty for a week.”

Clint raised his eyebrow and pointed toward the bag. Phil opened it and saw the sweet orange cranberry and chocolate chip scone sprinkled with sugar and all of its flaky goodness. He closed the bag and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, paperwork duty for three days.”

“Alright people!” Fury stormed in and all thoughts of scones, paperwork, and the tasty tea Phil was currently sipping had to wait until later.

Oh! Green tea and honey. How did Clint know?

 

\-------=-=-------

“Papers for Master Coulson!” Barton called barging into his office, stack of papers in one hand, a plastic cup of something white with red swirls in the other.

“Great, let me see what the new intern did,” Phil held out his hands for them.

Clint opened his mouth and then shut it with a glare. “I did these myself.”

“I’m sure, love. Now give it here.”

But he stayed stubborn. “Not until you take it back.”

Phil sighed getting up from his desk and closed the door before standing before Barton. He took his face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss him chastely. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry what?”

He held back a sigh, he could really be an adorable pain in the ass when he wanted to be. “I’m sorry, my brave warrior.”

Clint’s face split in two and he kissed Phil earnestly, pulled him close despite the objects in his hands.

He tasted sweet, like ice cream and fruit. Phil allowed himself a second before he pulled back, “Was that a strawberry swirl ice cream?”

“Nope,” Clint pulled the drink around and took a sip of it. “Peppermint shake, chapstick is strawberry.” He held the straw toward Phil’s lips for him to taste.

“Reports are that bad?”

“Just taste it!”

He smiled before he drank some, the tingly sensation spilling over his tongue and ran cool down his throat, filling his stomach with a delicious icy feeling. He hummed in appreciation and went in for another sip, but Clint pulled it back and held up the papers instead.

“Want these?” Phil raised an eyebrow and waited for Barton to finish his taunting. “One more kiss for them.”

“And for the shake?”

Clint pretended to consider this. “A weekend of cuddling?”

“Deal,” Phil took the papers and shake in hand, pecked him on the lips quickly, and went back to his seat.

“Don’t tell anyone though. I have to keep up my sex appeal.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right, because everyone doesn’t already know…”

Clint laughed as he headed out the door, hips and 'sex appeal' in full swing, generating a aura of cool suave. “See you later.”

Phil opted to take another taste of the scrumptious dessert rather than give in and roll his eyes again. How had he gotten himself into such a mess?

Oh right…just as that had all started…

 

 

**=-------===-===-------=**

“Files for the boss!” Barton announced as he burst into his office, stack of files in one hand, cardboard try with two smoothies in the other.

“Did you do them yourself this time, or did you bully one of the poor interns?” he asked taking the papers as the archer pulled one of the smoothies out of the try setting it before Phil.

“Uh! I’m hurt!” Clint gripped his chest and sat in the chair on the other side of his desk dramatically.

“Nope,” Phil sighed and tossed them off to the side, leaning back and ignoring the delicious looking drink before him. “Romanoff is written all over these.”

“I did them this time!” he sat up a little angrily. “I promise!”

“You promise?”

Clint rolled his eyes and made a ‘duh!’ face. “Yes, do you want me to write it in blood?”

Phil raised his eyebrow and gestured toward the tall white Styrofoam cup. “Then what’s the bribe for?”

“It’s not a bribe,” Barton’s voice was small and he turned his face away embarrassed.

Phil raised his eyebrow higher. “Not…a bribe?”

“No,”

“Then you ordered one and they gave you two on accident so you just took it and pawned it off on me?”

“No,” he glared at Coulson and then blanched, looking away and muttered, “I thought you might like a middle of the day pick-me-up. The reports did not turn out good, so I thought you’d enjoy something nice while you’re reading over the bad.”

“Oh,” Phil looked at the files to his left and then back to the smoothie. “What kind?”

“Chocolate and yoghurt.”

Oh…his favourite. “Thank you,” he said, picking up the files to read and pulling the smoothie close. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” Barton rose and nodded his head with a small, “sir,” before leaving. Phil noticed his usual swag was just a smidge off. Barton’s shoulders were hunched slightly and his balance was just a bit off centred. He pondered over it for a brief second before his phone rang, and he was back in a mountain of paperwork.

Barton was right, the smoothie did help.

 

 -------=-=-------

The power had blown two nights later. Everyone in the S.H.I.E.L.D. designated upper agent living complex were either hollering and doing Jell-O shots in the dark with glow sticks to guide their partying, or sitting and reading by candlelight.

Okay, Phil was pretty sure he was the only one do the latter, but still! The Lord of the Rings had always been one of his favourites, and it was the time of year where he re-read them. He was not going to break a long standing tradition just because some silly technology decided it couldn’t handle the new Stark Enterprises generators.

There was a knock on his door. He put the bookmarker in, set the large leather bound volume aside, and went to answer it. In the glow of the dinky little candle, he found Clint’s face, halo of tri-coloured glow-stick around his head, and a box in the other.

“Brought you some things,” he said waving the box.

“Like?”

“Well, candles for one and more batteries. I didn’t know if you had a lantern or not so I brought one to be on the safe side.” He lifted his other hand to show the giant green shiny camping lantern.

“Why?”

Barton shrugged. “Because I figured you’d just sit here in the dark alone. That’s not fun, especially if you have to listen to everyone else party around you.” As if to prove a point, the door to Agent Hill’s room opened and a conga line of people mingled out, hand on the shoulder of the person in front, the other hand holding a cup or bottle of some sort.

“SALSA!” Stark’s voice could be heard somewhere among the shadowy glow-stick fashion train of laughter and shouts.

Phil motioned for Barton to come inside, and the archer gladly accepted the invitation. He shut the door and they went to the living room.

“Tolkien? Really?” he gestured to the book as he flopped into a chair comfortably.

Coulson protectively picked it up and cradled it close. “What about it?”

He shrugged. “I just never thought you’d be interested in that. Don’t dragons, elves, magic, and Gandalf fall under the category of ‘abnormal’? It’s mystical stuff. I didn’t think you were a fan of that.”

“This is different. Believing in it and reading it are two separate things. That’s like saying Bigfoot is real but reading that he doesn’t like caramel apple sundaes. Everyone knows he loves them. Especially with pecans.”

Barton frowned at that last remark, but shrugged it off. “Well, if I would have known, I would have brought my copy.”

Coulson paused. “You…read?”

He gave him that ‘duh!’ look again, rolling his eyes. “No, I imitated sounds without understand their impressionistic meaning. Nothing regarding me has emotional depth to it. I am a robot.”

“I didn’t mean that. I just, didn’t know you read for fun.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘fun’. It’d say out of boredom or for personal amusement.”

Phil turned and headed toward the small kitchen area with a muttered, “for fun then.” He turned and added in a louder voice. “Want anything? Juice? Water?”

“Anything is fine, thanks.”

He returned with two iced beers, and they spent the rest of the night deep in discussion of movie versus book references. Phil found he rather enjoyed it.

 

 -------=-=-------

Phil was walking Cocoa, Fury’s new dog, around the park when he noticed Barton, a short distance away, playing with an odd Border collie mix. He was running from side to side, riling the dog up, and tossing a ball, running with the dog to see who’d get there first. Coulson pulled his coat around him more and watched for a short while, as Cocoa sniffed a tree. Barton was playful, energetic, happy…

It struck him then that he had never seen this smile or felt the sheer joy radiate off of Clint in such a way. The warmth that spread in his chest left him a bit tingly and confused. He shook his head and looked down at the small pom-pom dog who stared up at him.

“Boys,” he sighed and Cocoa snorted in agreement and they went on with their lives.

Phil, however, couldn’t get that smile out of his head.

 

 -------=-=-------

“Hello this is Fu Wong Chu noodle boat, home of the spice kamikaze, how can I help you?”

“Where are you?”

“Would you care to add a soup with that?”

“Barton.”

“Just the eggroll then?”

“Barton!”

Silence. “Yeeeees?”

“Where are you?”

More silence. “A snowman looks at an icicle and wonders were the carrots to the snowplough went.”

Phil’s blood went cold. It was the code for ‘being held hostage and tortured for info’. He licked his lips and cleared his throat, faking an angry growl. “Paperwork duty for a week. Report to my office later today.”

“Sure thing, your order comes out to - UGH!” and the phone went dead.

Coulson punched the emergency button before he could hang up his own phone. Clint was in trouble.

 

 

**=-------===-===-------=**

There was a knock on his door. Phil shook himself and set the drink aside. “Come in!”

It was Agent Van. “Everyone from the bridge’s reports from last week’s invasion. Stark has been ordered to send in details from the Doom bots he’s dissecting.”

“Great, set them here.” He gestured to a free corner, let Van salute him and then stared down at the papers before him with Clint’s tin scribbles all over them. At least he had actually done them himself this time…

Phil sighed and went back to work.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry! Just after I went on spring break my computer stopped working so I had to send it in and I forgot to copy this story to a flash drive. I got it back a while ago, but this semester has been brutal. I decided to give up on homework for today and just try and finish sorting this chapter out.
> 
> I owe you all for having to wait so long. Let me know how I can make it up!
> 
> \-------=-=------- Indicates a jump of time within the current line (past or present)  
> =-------===-===-------= Indicates the starting or end of a past memory or event. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own, and I do not own the characters. Enjoy!

He was training in the gym when it hit him. His shoulder spontaneously popped: a sharp sting of pain rippled down his right side and he gripped his arm, pulling it tightly to his chest. Clint bit his lip and took a few deep breaths as his body’s system adjusted and his muscles relaxed around the old wound.

“You alright?” He looked up, it was Phil. He was walking toward him with a bottle of water in one hand and a large bag in the other.

He nodded and sat down. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Is this new?”

Clint shook his head. “It’s from that failed mission after Stark disappeared.”

Phil frowned as he sat next to him, putting the bag between them as he tried to recall the memory. There had been several ‘failed’ missions over the course of his career. ‘Failed’ being a term Clint used as in he’d come back on a stretcher rather than on his own two feet. “This was before or after we were together?”

“Just before,”

“The one with A.I.M.,” Phil could have slapped himself over the head as the memory jumped to the surface. “That’s so bizarre! I was just thinking of that this morning.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,”

“Good to know you think about me while you’re supposed to be working,” he gave Coulson his trademark wicked smirk and leaned against the wall to peer down into the bag. “Is that orange chicken I smell?”

Phil couldn’t help his own smile. “Yeah, and Lo Mein, just the way you like it.” He handed him the water bottle and went to dig into the bag.

“Alright!” he cheered and then stopped suddenly serious. “Oh no! This isn’t a special day is it? I’m not missing an anniversary or something? Your birthday isn’t today is it? No, Marcy would have told me.”

“Not unless I told her not too,” he smirked and opened one of the paper boxes. He glanced over and saw Clint’s bewildered face and laughed. “No, no. It’s not today. I just thought I’d bring you something special. You’re always bringing me stuff.”

“Yeah, you bring me stuff too,” he grumbled rolling his shoulder to make sure it was alright before taking the food and a pair of chopsticks.

“Like what?”

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

He lay in the hospital bed, pathetic looking, with a smug ass smile plastered to his face. One eye swelled up, lip split, stitches along his chest and back, shoulder dislocated, and ankle sprained. He was going to be out for a while. At least the drugs were worth it.

He noticed Phil stand in the doorway, waiting for Fury, Hill, and Romanoff to finish the short detail report for his capture and rescue. He wished they would just hurry up and leave. He had to adjust himself and the morphine was starting to make him sleepy. Fury’s boring ass voice wasn’t helping either.

“So next time you get a bright idea –”

“Yeah, I get it; don’t save the world without permission again, regardless if it was right or not. Now can I get some rest and privacy? I may have to piss through a tube for the next couple of weeks but I would still like to do it alone.”

Agent Hill stopped Fury, before he could get closer to knock Clint upside the head, and whispered, “It is just probably the drugs and head trauma. I’m sure he didn’t mean it to sound so disrespectful. Remember he did just get through with being tortured and not revealing any information.”

The director took a moment and calmed himself. He nodded and wished him well before leaving. THANK GOD! He shifted just slightly, his shoulder popping, and moved his leg with a groan as a tingly feeling washed along his arm and around his circulatory system. Oh yeah, morphine was awesome. He turned back toward the door.  “Are you going to stand there and stare at me, or are you going to come into the light?”

“Do I still get to stare at you?”

“Sure,” he smiled and felt that fuzzy warmth spread around his chest. That was the smile! Phil’s special smile! He watched the agent stumble into the room and presented him with a small bouquet of flowers.

“Flowers,” he said grinning stupidly. “For you.”

“Magical, eh?” Clint laughed and groaned gripping his ribs.

“No, just flowers.”

They were daisies; a small yet elegant batch of purple Marguerite and white Shasta ones. How had Phil even…?

Clint gave him a tired smile and gestured for him to come and sit near him. They talked about the weather, small details of the mission, anything that Clint could think of that would keep Phil close for a while with that amazing smile. He might have overworked his body by doing so, and his lungs would ached for the rest of the day from laughing and smiling so much, but his heart had never been lighter. He could care less about the pain so long as Phil never stopped smiling at him like that.

 

 -------=-=------- 

He was out walking around the city rooftops keeping an eye on the back up team’s back up team.  He hadn’t slept much the past few weeks, and flying to and from the west and east hemispheres, as well as fight off Hydra soldiers, only added to his exhaustion. He was a zombie; body just going through the motions that years of training and action had instilled within his system.

Clint rubbed his face and quickly walked around to the other side of the building top to look down at the team below. Things seemed to be going well, and he prayed they’d stay that way. If they did, he’d get a week’s leave, if not, then he’d have to try and find a time he could power nap…maybe on the ride back to Kenya…

He stifled a yawn and noticed something move to his right. In a flash he had his bow knotted and aimed, ready to shoot, at the figure which had just climbed over the lip of the rooftop.

“It’s me!” came Coulson’s whispered voice.

“If a train is going fifty miles an –”

“Clint, it’s me. Seriously. No torture, no pressure, just me.” He walked forward into the light cast from a combination of the moon and the building next to them. He was dressed in a full S.H.I.E.L.D. suit, required for some stealth missions, and Barton had to admit it looked good on him. He still liked the tie and slacks thing, but this was a good second.

“What is wrong?” he lowered his weapon a little but kept it ready just in case.

“Nothing,”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah,” Phil nodded and stopped just a few feet from him.

“We’re in the middle of a mission and you just left your post to tell me that nothing is wrong? We have communicators for those things.”

“The mission? Oh! The Hydra thing! Oh that’s over with.”

Clint blinked at him a few times with his serious resting face. “What?”

“The villains were in the building on the lower end of town, we have them.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

“Smoking out spies.”

Barton could have face palmed. Of course! OF COURSE Fury would push him to the very edge of insanity just so he could watch out for spies. Spies! Spies he didn’t even, but somehow figured he should have known excited!

“I might puke…” he mumbled and rubbed is face as the world around him started spinning. He tried to stay up right but found himself being lowered to the ground and given a bottle and a few protein bars.

“Take these.” Phil set him to sit against the ledge comfortably.

“But my watch –”

“I’ll cover it. I knew you’d probably faint soon. I already talked to Fury and he said it was fine. You’ve done more than your fair share of work for this round.”

Clint felt a spot inside his chest glow with warmth. “Thank you.”

Phil smiled and sent the archer in another dizzy spell. He quickly ate and drank as Coulson set up his rifle and squatted out, getting up every once in a while to check the perimeter.

Barton felt a little better, but his mind was still hazy. He shook himself a few times and then felt something warm drape over his shoulders. He looked up and found Coulson again. He was putting his extra jacket around him.

“What’s this for?”

“You’ll probably sleep better if you’re not so cold.”

“But then you’ll be cold.”

“I’ll live,” he smiled and went back to his post across the way.

If Clint had the energy to smile he would have. Instead he just blinked and let the comforting feeling of Phil’s jacket and his scent lull him to sleep.

 

 -------=-=------- 

He was watching Phil from across the main office floor. He was at the coffee counter, mixing himself up a cup: three creamers, three sugars, and a drop of chocolate. He could do this…getting up and walking over. He just wanted some coffee…that was all. Nothing more.

Clint practically jumped out of his chair and maneuvered his way around the clusters of tables and desks quickly. He snatched up a cup and poured the blackened liquid in it until it was a little of two thirds of the way full.

“Hey,” Phil said with a smile as he stirred his drink.

“Hey,” Clint tried acting cool as if his cup was more important than conversation. He was acting stupid.

“I thought you hated coffee?”

“Every once in a while I drink it,” he nodded, opting for chill instead of cool. “Y’know, just in case I suddenly decide I like it.”

Coulson smiled from the rim of his cup as he took a sip. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Yep,” he poured in four vanilla, two a hazelnut, and one peppermint creamer cups, and seven packets of sugars before stirring it.

Phil chuckled. “Maybe you like the flavouring additions you make to it more than the actual coffee?”

Shit…how was he supposed to recover? “That could be it…”

He laughed and then waved to Barton. “I have a meeting to get to. I’ll see you around, but I hope you find a coffee you enjoy.”

“Thanks me too. See ya,” he waved and as soon as Coulson had rounded the corner he clapped his hand to his forehead. He was so lame…

“Smooth move…” Natasha said as she come a little closer to him, stirring her own very black coffee with just a packet of sugar in it.

“Well I’m sure if I had tits too I could better get his attention,” he snipped back at her.

“Whoa, calm down! I’m just saying…” she held out her hand in defence and then adjusted her zipper to reveal more of her cleavage. “But even if you did they wouldn’t be a great as mine.”

“Right,” he rolled his eyes and knew it was true. He sighed and then shook his head. “I don’t even know what I’m doing…” he took a sip of his semi-drinkable coffee and decided it wasn’t as sweet as he remembered it to be. He tossed it and went off to shoot something until he didn’t feel so stupid.

That proved to be more frustrating than his feelings. With every minute his aim became worse until he was doing nothing but sitting and thinking about Phil and his three creamers, three sugars, and drop of chocolate.

“Crap,” he muttered and rubbed his face falling back to lie on the ground.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

 “Really? That was when you knew?” He laughed as he snagged one of Clint’s pieces of chicken.

Barton nodded his head and swallowed his giant mouthful of noodles. “Yeah, why when did you figure it out?”

Phil blushed and shook his head, “Oh…you know…”

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

It was a Tuesday when he put two and two together. He was in…

“Crap,” he groaned rubbing his forehead as he leaned back in his desk chair, letting it spin a little off to the side. This couldn’t be happening. This didn’t happen to him. He was a practical man!

There was a knock on the door.

“Entre,” he called out and turned his head to find Romanoff standing in the doorway. “Yes, what can I help you with?” He straightened in his chair, business mode activated.

She held up her hand and set down a tattered leather bound book. “Leave it in his locker when you’re done. The code is on the first page. Don’t tell him I gave you this.” She warned before leaving.

He picked it up, flipping to the first page. There it was, in that familiar shaky tiny oddly tilted handwriting was scrawled: “Clint Francis Barton, if found please return to locker 362, 2-1-19-14-5-25. BE RESPECTFUL! DO NOT READ FURTHER!”

His gut told him not too. He wanted to just throw the book aside, call Barton, and rat out Romanoff. His hands shook as he flipped to the last marked entry. If he was going to do this, he was only going to scratch the surface.

Phil took a deep breath and began to read.

“I like him…it is stupid, and I don’t understand it…but…I like him…I like Phil Coulson…and not as a friend. I mean teenage girl level like…I wonder what type of chapstick he uses…I bet it’s fruity…”

Phil frowned and opened the top drawer to his desk. There sitting in the corner was a white tube of chapstick. He turned it over. “Mango peach…” he mumbled reading the tiny green words on the label and then laughed going back to the journal.

“It started three years ago…”

 

_“Hey I’m Clint,” he said holding his hand out._

_“Phil,” he shook it._

_“Are you new here?”_

_“To this base, yes, but to the division, no.”_

_“Great, need a tour?”_

_Phil looked around and zipped up the jacket of his flight suit a bit more. “Sure, but first I need to meet with my supervisor.”_

_“The office is that way,” Barton pointed to the correct space off to the side of the main entrance way._

_“Thanks, I’ll only be a minute?”_

_“Sure, I’ll be here.”_

_And he was. Clint had stayed right where he had left him. When he saw Phil walk back toward him, he perked up and stood at attention, tall and impressive in his assassin uniform._

_“Got my card,” Phil smiled and flashed it quickly before he tucked it away._

_“Great, this way.” He led him around the base showing him everything: the history of it, business and facts about the place and little funny titbits. Phil had never found a more warming or personal welcome tour in his whole life. He’d been transferred to countless bases over the long years he’d work for S.H.I.E.L.D., each met with civil or kind others, but never this generous. He felt so at home._

_“And the buildings you see out this window are designated as living quarters. That one is for senior agents and special supervisors, next for base units and the last is for office workers.” Clint turned to him then. “I can show you which building you’ll be living in if you’d like?”_

_“I haven’t been given a room just yet; I arrived a day earlier than planned. The mission was much shorter than anticipated.”_

_Clint nodded and gestured to a large door way at the far end of the hall they were in. “If you are hungry, lunch should be served soon. I can leave you to settle in; I’m sure you have meetings to attend.”_

_Phil laughed, “Not today, thankfully. Are you hungry?”_

_He seemed confused for a second. “My needs are irrelevant.”_

_Coulson shook his head. “Are you a robot? I thought you were too good to be true.”_

_Clint let out a chuckle, “No, not a robot. Just an assassin,” he gestured to his garb. “I’ve learned over the years that I do not need much.”_

_“But you do eat right?”_

_“Yes,”_

_“Good, join me?”_

_Phil couldn’t help but smile at the bewildered look that came over Clint’s face. Apparently he was not offered companionship during meals often. He clapped him on the back and guided him toward the mess hall._

 

“…and to this day I’ve never been able to eat alone…”

Phil closed the journal and set it down with a smile.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

 “That’s where my journal went!” Clint shouted and almost spit his food out in his angry astonishment.

“You must have known!”

“I…” he shook his head; he had to be a giant idiot now that he thought about it.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

He couldn’t find it! Where the fuck had he left that stupid ass journal!? It had been a lame ass gift from Fury after he had been rescued as a kid and taken into protective care by S.H.I.E.L.D. The therapist had suggested it would help him deal with all the shit and trauma he’d gone through. I mean if you were only eight when your parents died and you and your brother were sold to a circus and sexually abused and formed into mini acrobatic thieves and killers, and then you had to watch some guy murder your brother, you’d probably have a few problems too.

Maybe.

Clint growled and tossed his now empty backpack onto the ground with the rest of the stuff that it had been holding. Where the fuck was it!?

“Problem?” He turned and found Natasha leaning against the doorway.

“I can’t find my fucking journal,” he rubbed his face emotionally exhausted. He had just written some deep shit in there too. Damn.

“Did you leave it at home?”

“No, I had it this morning. I swore I put it on the top shelf. I was going to take it to therapy later today.”

“Come on,” she sighed and grabbed his arm dragging him toward the exit.

“Where are we going?” he tried pulling out of her grasp.

“To your place. I think you left it there again.”

“I didn’t! NAT! LET GO!”

It wasn’t there. It wasn’t at her place. It was at his desk. It wasn’t in the Lost and Found. His therapist’s secretary didn’t have it. Where the fuck could it have been!? He stopped when he saw Coulson turn the corner. Clint ducked down into an alcove. He felt stupid, but he just couldn’t look at the man. If anyone knew…

Barton smacked his head against the wall and held his breath as Coulson hurried past him without a second glance. If anyone found out and told him…

Damn! He needed to find that stupid ass journal and then burn it! Maybe it was at the hospital. He’d go look there.

He turned the corner and went to clean up the junk in front of his locker and found it was already done. He paused and looked in the trash bins. His stuff wasn’t in there. Where was it? He punched in his code and opened it to find his things had been put back into his bag and on the shelves.

But who could have…

“Natasha,” he breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude as he gathered his stuff and headed home. She was always taking care of him.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

“You cleaned it up?” He asked as he finished off the last of his noodles.

Phil smiled and nodded poking at his own food.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

He walked into the locker area and stood before 362. It was one of the very few without a nametag on the outside or some sort of sticker adoring its casing, however there was a pile of junk strewn about the place. He punched in the code and it popped opened with a click. He started at the few pictures, one burned around the edges featured two small boys, another of Natasha at a carnival, a few of dogs, and one hidden behind the mirror. It was of a female with a big smile, long curly brown hair, deep kind eyes, and Barton’s lips, curved in a grin as he kissed her cheek.

He shook himself and set the journal on the top shelf. Before closing it he started down at the random assortment of pencils, knives, papers, and other bobbles before deciding to pick them up. He quickly sorted and stored them into a bag he found, and put it safely back inside. He took once last look at the journal before taking a calming breath and then closed the door. He needed to be home before his mind could convince him it was a bad idea.

He’d find out soon enough.

 

 -------=-=-------

 There was a knock on the door that night. He opened it knowing who it’d be. There leaning against the frame was Clint, his journal in hand, and off-shift clothes on. The simple jeans and shirt fit him nicely and the blue converse where exactly how Phil pictured they’d be.

The archer looked up from the pages he had been flipping slowly through. “I…” He began and then cleared his throat. “I came down to thank you for returning this. Tasha told me you found it in the training room.”

Coulson shrugged and tried to hide his discomfort at the lie. “It’s the least I could do.” Awkward silence followed. Phil’s mind went into nervous overdrive. He shifted, stopped, shifted again, and then cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Do-do you w-want to come in? The power is on, so I can make you some coffee? Or tea? You prefer tea, unless you suddenly decided you like coffee?”

Barton closed the journal and nodded his head slowly with a tiny smile. “Yeah, tea. I’d like that.”

Twenty minutes later they both sat at the small table, steamy mugs in hand, not looking at the other, shifting in their uncomfortable silence. Phil cleared his throat again and gestured to Clint’s cup. “I…I can add honey or lemon if you’d like?”

“Hm?” he looked up as if he had just realised Coulson had spoken and then shook his head. “Oh no, I like it plain. Thank you though.”

Phil nodded again and the silence carried on. Ten more minutes and Clint got up without a word and left. Coulson kicked himself mentally and noticed he had forgotten his journal again. He reached for it and found a small slip of yellow paper under it. He picked it up and found Barton’s handwriting.

“Do you want to go out with me? Circle one. Yes. No. Return with journal to locker please.”

He smiled and went to look for a pen.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

 “So you knew the whole time? Even before our first date when I told you?”

Phil gave him a pleading look. He couldn’t stand when Clint was angry with him. “Sorry, love.”

He sighed and rubbed his neck. “Yeah well…even after all this time…it’s nice to know.” He leaned over and kissed Coulson sweetly and patted his cheek. ‘I’m not mad at you, stop with that face.”

Phil sighed with relief and went back to picking out the peas in his rice for Clint to eat. That was what he loved about them. Anything one did not like to eat, the other would finish for him. The teamwork they had both at work and home had been hard to work out over the years, but worth it now.

“There is a meeting tomorrow.” Coulson said after a while of comfortable silence between them.

“Yeah?”

“0600.”

“We’ll have to get someone to take Marcy,” he finished off the last of his chicken and started mixing the discarded peas in with the leftover sauce at the bottom of his container.

“Are you going to be there on time?”

“Sure,” Barton said and shrugged. “You have to be there thirty minutes before, so just wake me up when you finish your morning work-out or whatever.”

Phil rolled his eyes unconvinced, but gave him the benefit of the doubt. “You promise you won’t sneak back to bed?”

“Promise. You can even call me when you get to the conference room.”


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bad writer. I sincerely apologise for taking an eternity to post this part. To make up for it, I've swore off posting anything else until I post a fourth part to this first.
> 
> \-------=-=------- Indicates a jump of time within the current line (past or present)  
> =-------===-===-------= Indicates the starting or end of a past memory or event.
> 
> I do not own the characters. All mistakes are my own. Please enjoy.

Clint burst into the boardroom, two travel cups and a paper bag in hand. He rushed to his seat near Phil and set the stuff down as the speaker continued with their presentation.

“I said two minutes,” he whispered sternly sliding a folder toward the archer.

“They’re sprinkled,” he hissed back pushing the bag closer to him along with a cup.

Phil frowned and snatched the bag down under the table to discreetly take a peek inside. The teasing sugary smell made his stomach growl as he saw the three doughnuts wrapped in chocolate. One looked to have a filling, another was just plainly frosted, and the last had – oh god! – rainbow sprinkles!

He folded the top setting it at his feet and gave the poor archer, who waited nervously for a sign, a smile of thanks. Clint’s face went from innocent puppy to smug and macho. Phil’s heart fluttered.

It reminded him of their first kiss. Or…kisses rather.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

They were walking in the park. It had been a week since he had left his answer with the journal in Barton’s locker. A whole week of sneaking around to small restaurants, late night shows, and walks in the park. It was evening, and they had stopped to get a treat. Doughnuts, Phil’s favourite.

Phil held the take away bag in his left hand. It was a tad uncomfortable, because he was unaccustomed holding things in his non-dominant hand, but he couldn’t resist taking the archer’s when he had shyly held it out.

They were holding hands! It made Phil’s stomach twist into knots. He felt like a stupid like-sick little girl, and he didn’t care. From what he could tell, it was obvious Clint felt the same way. He kept looking down at their joined hands and away quickly, probably to conceal a blush. Phil noticed he tended to show more emotions and his true personality when there weren’t a lot of people around.

Clint smiled at him again, squeezing his hand quickly before letting go, and ran toward an empty playground. Phil laughed as Odysseus barked and went after his master, jumping up on the plastic slide Barton was trying to shimmy up.

He was a loyal dog; a rescue Clint had found. After his other dog had died in the spring, he hadn’t wanted to take in another pet, but this little scraggly mutt showed up on one of his missions, followed him home, and they’d been together ever since.

 _“The dogs old, and it’s apparent he’s been abused,”_ Barton explained when they had first been introduced a week ago. _“I figured it took him years to find a good home, his journey is over with, and he can live in peace now.”_

 _How poetic._ Phil thought as he sat down on a swing to watch the two race around the small play structure.

They were in sync; jumping and twisting from section to section. When Barton would swing across the monkey bars, Odysseus would leap and find a set of stairs to meet him at the other side. When he would go down the slide, the dog would not be far behind. After a few minutes they ran to were Phil was sitting; Barton’s smile mirroring the one he knew was on his own face.

He flopped down onto the tiny black plastic seat and held out his hand for Phil to take. They swung together and watched the night sky as Odysseus rolled in the grass around them.

This was good…this was what Phil wanted. This was more than Clint could ever dared dream of having.

That night, when they said goodbye, Clint hesitated a moment before leaning in and kissed the side of his face. Caught off guard, Coulson froze. No one had done that to him before. Upon seeing Phil’s deer-in-the-headlights expression the archer’s face crumpled.

“Was that pushing things?” He asked quietly biting his lip.

Phil thought he was cute when he was nervous.  “No,” he found his voice steadier than what he had expected it to be. “It was…just right.”

 

\-------=-=-------

It was a whole other month before Phil could return that kiss. It was after a horrible mission against Dr. Doom and the Wrecking Crew. Barton had been beaten up, again, trying to protect Romanoff, who had suffered a broken leg and was rendered unconscious, and a small child. The little girl clung to him even after he too had succumbed to the darkness of the pain his body was fighting against.

Phil had to pry her off and physically hand her over to a medical team to see if she was alright. Fury had ordered him to stay with her. He didn’t want to, but he did. He wanted nothing more than to run toward the helicopter and see if Barton was alright, but the little girl as the only survivor and SHIELD needed something good to come out of that catastrophe. When she had been deemed fine, just needing plenty of rest and the proper food and fluids, he had snuck away from his post to see the archer.

The scene had d _éjà_ vu stamped all over it; accept he was just lying in the bed, with no one speaking to him. No smile, no light, no life. Just still. It made Phil uncomfortable, but he went in with his small bouquet of daisies and one sprinkled doughnut. He didn’t know what to do.

He stood there for a while; anxiously weighting the outcomes of every option his mind provided him. Should he sit on the side of the bed? No Clint had too many things attached to him this time. Should he pull up a chair? It looked too heavy, and he was worried dragging it across the room would make too much noise or unplug something vital. Should he sit on the floor? Well then his pants would get dirty and Fury would be upset…oh this was stupid!

The door opened and in walked a kind looking nurse. “Hello,” she smiled and went to check over the monitors and take a few blood samples. “Friend of yours?”

“Yeah, my…friend,” he swallowed and licked his lips shifting from one foot to the next.

She gave him a look and then put the pieces together. “Ah, well he won’t be up for some time…would you like to take a seat?”

“I…” he struggled and held up his hands. He must have looked ridiculous, standing there sweating bullets with a tiny bag in one hand and a small bundle of flowers in the other.

“Okay,” she said recognising his distress and held up one of her hands. “Take a deep breath, just let me finish this and I’ll help get you set up.”

“Thank you,” his words came out in a jumbled rush of relief.

Just as she promised, she pocketed the vials of blood, injected something into Clint’s IV and then helped Coulson wiggle the chair forward. “There we go,” she smiled as he sat awkwardly on the edge of the stiff cushion. “Better?” He nodded quickly. She patted his knee and headed toward the door. “Push the buzzer if you need anything, alright?”

“Yes, thank you.” Phil waved the daisies at her, and then set his stuff down behind him as he leaned forward to gently take Clint’s hand. “Oh you…stupid…” he bit his lip and bowed his head. He didn’t he know what else to say. He opted to focus his mind and calm his breathing instead of trying to think of something.

It was some time before Barton came too. Phil had already paced the room a dozen times, counted the floor tiles from several different angles, and was just starting to count the ceiling panels when Clint stirred.

Phil sat up quickly and reached for him, “Clint?”

The archer made a noise in his throat and turned his head to look at him. “The…light…” he rasped.

Phil stood so he could reach the knob on the wall and dimmed the lights over the monitors. “Better?” Clint nodded and waited for him to settle back into the chair and turned his hand over. Phil took it eagerly. “I was worried I was going to fall asleep before you woke up.”

Clint cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Fine. The little girl?”

“She’s fine. We made it there just after you passed out.”

He nodded slowly and swallowed again, “would you feed Odysseus?”

“Do you seriously need to ask me that?”

The archer nodded again, the medicine making his eyes heavy. He closed them and sighed, mumbling something about pie and Mama Mia. Phil laughed and rose up so he could, kiss Clint’s forehead.

“You’ve never done that before,” he breathed cracking an eye to look at him.

“You’ve never made me worry I wouldn’t see you again,”

Barton’s lips twitched at the corners and he squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I wouldn’t do that to you…we haven’t seen Lion King together yet…”

“Oh is that all?” Phil laughed.

“Yeah,” he smiled weakly and shifted a bit, winching in pain.

“Well it seems you’re going to be here a while. I brought you flowers,”

“Did you?” he looked around and held his side as he moved again. “I might be dying…I think I smell doughnuts.”

Phil turned to quickly pick up the bag and the small bouquet to present them to him. “Tada!”

Clint smiled and tugged him down to give him a small peck on the cheek.

 

 

\-------=-=-------

 _Kissing,_ Phil thought, _is the cherry on top of the cake. The extra fudge at the bottom of a drumstick ice cream. The warm blanket on a cold night. Clint._

They were sitting on Clint’s couch, snuggled together under a blanket, watching cartoons from his laptop, and kissing. It was slow and shy. Nothing heated. They didn’t need much more. It was strange, but…felt right.

Coulson thought it wonderful that he had found someone else in the world like him. Someone who could understand the need to just keep things…simple. Someone who wouldn’t pressure him into anything more than just this. Someone who knew the loneliness of watching everyone else around them do things, which had never been desirable to him. He grew up feeling broken, an outcast, and ashamed of his lack in what his father and friends called: “every man’s basic desires”.  

Clint had called it ‘asexual’.

 _“There are different kinds,”_ he had explained earlier that night, as they sat in the outside patio area of a nice little Italian place. Good breadsticks, great seafood pasta, and the best minestrone Phil had ever tasted.

_“Like what?”_

_“Well, some will have sex with people they trust; others do not want contact with anyone at all; friend or foe wise. I’m kind of…I’m attracted to people, but in a…odd sense. I don’t go for features or physical stuff; I go for personality, actions, thoughts, words,”_

_“Good; my balding head would be a turn off otherwise,”_

Barton glared at him and sternly said: _“Your ‘balding’ head is cute.”_

Apparently they were both the same type of asexual. No desire for sex, but okay with kissing, handholding, cuddling, and sharing the same straw. Coulson couldn’t remember the last time he had shared a straw with someone…it had to have been his mother…maybe not…?

Clint put his bandaged hand on the side of his face and pecked the tip of his nose. Even several months after the accident, he was still not 100% and it bothered Phil. It bothered him worse than the ending of the movie they had just gone to see.

It was early spring and the rain was pattering against the window loudly. The power had gone out just as they had made it back into the building, laughing and soaking wet. Clint’s room was closer, so they decided to cuddle up in pyjamas and watch some ‘Adventure Thing’ as their clothes dried. The candles on the table were flickering slowly, giving the room a soft gentle glow. It was fairly romantic when you ignored the random bright flashes of colours and farting sounds the weird yellow dog was making on the tiny screen.

He rubbed their noses together and whispered, “Your nose is cold.”

“Yeah? Well, your feet are cold,” Barton countered back tucking his feet away from Phil’s and stretching out a bit.

“You’re not going to help me warm them?” he innocently asked and moved his feet to search for Clint’s.

“No!” he shrieked as their feet collided. A small footsy battle issued, which escalated to them tickling the other to try and win. It ended when both of them landed on the floor, the blanket twisted around them, preventing them from a fast escape. They were breathing hard, staring at each other; the moment plummeting from mirth to awkward in the blink of an eye.

“I…” Clint said trying to get up, suddenly uncomfortable. They had snuggled, but never with either one of them so close or on top of the other.

“No, no,” Phil put his hands on Barton’s hips and held him still. “I…I’m okay with this…if you are?”

Clint nodded slowly and relaxed back on top of him. They shifted until they were a bit more comfortable and on their sides. The power to the laptop died causing Odysseus to whine and sniff the ground looking for his master. Clint patted the space beside Coulson to get the canine’s attention and then pulled the blanket around them more. Odysseus snuggled up next to them.

“Oh man,” Clint sighed heavily, his breath tickling Phil’s neck.

“Hm?”

“We forgot to get doughnuts…”

“What?” he chuckled and pulled away to look at him.

“Doughnuts…we always get some after we eat, and we decided to eat before the movie this time, so we forgot them. Oh damn! We should have gotten them and snuck them into the movie! Can we do that next time? Please?” he gave the agent his best puppy dog face.

Coulson laughed and nodded his head. “Sure, why not?”

Clint cheered and they settled back down. Their breathing evened out, and the nervous fluttering of their stomachs and hearts lulled them to sleep as the storm continued to rage on outside.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

Clint set the tray down and sighed heavily as he sat across from Phil. It was lunch time and the New York SHIELD branch mess hall was buzzing with activity.

“Something wrong?” Steve asked setting his cheeseburger down to listen.

“He’s in trouble.” Phil answered for him and took up a fork to stab at the main plate of food Clint had gotten for both of them. The meal had ‘I am sorry’ written all over it: three cheese ravioli covered in shredded mozzarella and provolone, steamed buttered broccoli, hearty garlic bread, and a small strawberry Jell-O cup. Coulson smiled pleased, at least Clint knew he was in the dog house and was trying to make amends, the only way he knew how.

“Trouble? What kind?”

“Relationship stuff,” he sighed dramatically and rested his chin in his palm, giving Coulson the most pathetic puppy eyes.

“Marcy has made me immune to that,” Phil advised before helping himself to a delicious looking bite of the ravioli.

“I knew that kid was trouble,” Clint tisked dropping the act and picked up his own fork dejected.

The super solider smiled and resumed eating. Clint in trouble was always an amusing lunch to sit through. A nervous cough came from his left and he looked to find a very small, yet determined looking young man waiting anxiously with a tray. “Captain America?” he asked almost uncertain and saluted.

“Steve will do just fine, son,” he set his meal down again and wiped his hands before extending one for the kid to shake. “What can I help you with?”

“I was assigned as your assistant for the upcoming mission?”

“Doesn’t sound too sure, does he?” Clint muttered to Phil in his usual snarky manner. Phil glared at him and poked him in the nose with his fork. The archer scrunched up his nose and knocked the ravioli Coulson was going for out of his utensil’s path.

“Yes! Good to meet you. Please take a seat!” Steve gestured to the open space across the way from him.

The boy nearly stumbled over his own feet as he made his way to sit. “I’m a big fan!”

“Ya don’t say?” Clint mumbled over a mouthful of cheese. Phil nudged his foot under the table as another warning.

“How kind of you,” Steve smiled and picked up his cheeseburger.

“Thank you, Mr. Captain America Steve, sir,”

Clint snorted and covered some of his laughter by drinking the water Phil had gotten for them.

“Steve will do,”

“Right,” he looked down and nervously picked at his food.

“I’m sorry,” Clint couldn’t stop himself. He waved his fork around with sarcastic flare and leaned back in his chair a bit, “I didn’t catch your name; you are?”

“Agent Michael Mihailo, sir.”

“Oh well your parents were creative,” the archer rolled his eyes and didn’t even bother to keep his voice low as he dropped his interest and attention from the poor man on his left. Phil kicked him hard under the table. Clint yelped and bent down to grip his leg. “What was that for!?”

“You are going explain to Marcy why you have to sleep on the couch and why she can’t snuggle up with you tonight.”

“Sir?” the young man asked confused and looked between them.

“Oh, baby wait,” he reached to take Phil’s hands, but missed when the agent pulled them back. “I was just playing.”

“Just ignore them Michael,” Steve advised watching the couple with amusement.

“And then when she starts asking why papa is in trouble and daddy has to explain, ‘he is in time out for not playing nice with the other guys at work’; who has to look at her sad face then?”

“I’m sorry!” he tried grabbing Phil’s hands again. “What do you want from me? I’m an asshole. You knew this before you married me!”

“They’re married?” Michael whispered across the table to Steve. The soldier nodded and held up one of his hands to indicate how long. “Four years?” the agent was taken aback impressed, but confused.

“Are you going to apologise for being rude?” Phil asked crossing his arms and putting on that paternal façade he had perfected forever ago.

“Yes,” Clint turned to the young man, “I’m sorry, I did not mean to be rude. I thought it was funny that your first name is ‘Michael’ and that your surname is the Hebrew variant of your first.”  He turned to Rogers, “I’m sorry I impersonate you behind your back. Marcy thinks it’s funny!” And finally he turned to Phil, “I’m sorry, I’m a jerk, and I’ll take the trash out for the rest of forever and do the dishes.”

Phil smiled and leaned forward, taking Clint’s right hand and offering him his lips for a quick kiss. The archer jumped at the opportunity and relaxed back into his seat to finish eating his half of the meal. Coulson sighed and rolled his eyes, what was he going to do with him?

“So…you’re married?” Michael inquired timidly.

Phil nodded and resumed eating, “four _long_ years.”

“I thought agents weren’t allowed?”

“It’s not that we’re not, it’s just most of us can’t find the time or want to put others at risk.”

“If you hadn’t noticed this is a dangerous job,” Clint added pushing half of the steamed broccoli toward Phil.

“Oh, well…” Michael nodded and sat forward in his chair more, indicating he wished for only their table to hear what he had to say next. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you both decide it was time?”

“Time?” Clint chewed noisily on his garlic bread.

“Yeah, I’m with this girl,” he inhaled a bit embarrassed of speaking on such personal matters and looked down at his food. “And _she_ asked me, but I don’t know…if…”

“Ah,” Phil smiled at Clint affectionately. “We didn’t really either.”

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

 “Move in with me,” he said offhandedly over lunch one day. It was late summer and they had snuck out of the office for a change of scenery at a nice little café. Phil had called it, ‘rule breaking’ and Clint only shouted, ‘Adventure Time!’ back at him and ran toward the car.

“What?” Phil almost choked on a grape from his fruit salad.

“Move in with me,” he repeated without a pause, as he bit into his chicken sandwich.

“My apartment is bigger,”

Clint shrugged. “Okay, so I move in with you. Regardless, is it cool? Or too fast?”

Phil shook his head and wiped his hands nervously. “No! I mean…let’s do a trial first.”

“Okay, a few months?” he dusted his hands and then took a few gulps from his coke.

“Sure,”

 

\-------=-=-------

 “What’s this?” Clint asked opening the door to a spare smaller room.

“This is the family or upper agent level space. They come with a master room and one or two extra for children.”

“Oh…” he looked at the room with an odd expression before closing the door.

“I don’t use it.”

“I can tell. It’s empty.” He went to the kitchen and snatched the phone off the hook. “Chinese tonight? I borrowed Sense and Sensibility from Nat.”

“What?”

“It’s her favourite. She recommended it. Don’t let her know I told you she owes it. Or that it’s her favourite.”

“Nothing like a little Regency and some orange chicken with pork fried rice, huh?” he laughed and went to look for the takeout menu.

“Ugh, that and Alan Rickman’s voice! Please! I’m drooling already!” Clint groaned dramatically.

 

\-------=-=-------

One year.

It was their one year anniversary and they had been living together in the same apartment for months. It had taken two weeks for Phil to adjust to living with Clint constantly around. It was a little scary at first, but it was…nice. It took Clint a little longer, and he still wasn’t 100% settled in, but they had time and Phil had enough patience for the both of them.

They fought, and made up. They were nervous and skirted around each other, fell asleep at different times until they were comfortable sharing the same bed, and took tea in the afternoons while reading. It was something Clint had pointed out as, ‘Sissy European stuff’ but Phil had explained it was more, ‘Calming, romantic time for the two of them to unwind before bed stuff’. Regardless of the problems they faced, Odysseus seemed to like the extra space and the addition of another master.

Despite their eventual settling into the affair, there was just something…missing…

Phil thought it would pass, but with time it seemed to only become more apparent. Maybe it was because he hadn’t decided yet on what to make for their special dinner. He had just returned to the apartment from his walk with Odysseus and found Clint racing around, grabbing his coat and shoes.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,”

“Well, obviously. Is there something wrong?”

“Nope,” he grabbed his keys, and pecked Phil’s lips quickly, patting Odysseus and opened the door. “See you later. Love you both!”

Phil stood there for a moment stunned. “Bye,” he whispered as disappointment swelled inside of his chest. He turned away from the closed door, feeling a little silly for having stressed in horrible excitement over just another regular day. Just because a year ago they had started something didn’t mean it was something worth celebrating over right? He flopped down on the couch and looked over at the door, knowing Barton was long gone by then, but hoping he’d come back.

Odysseus whined and climbed up next to him sensing his distress. Phil petted him and sighed again, “no matter. It is just a day.” Odysseus licked him and snuggled down beside him. “I still don’t know what to make for dinner.”

Thankfully he didn’t have to decide or cook dinner; the archer had returned with boxes from his favourite Thai restaurant and a beautiful lily bouquet not too long after his swift departure. Clint also presented him with a silver ring. It was engraved in elvish. Phil knew he was in love.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

“That’s really beautiful,” Michael said interrupting the couple’s shared thoughts.  “But what was the missing thing?”

“Hm?”

“The thing you mentioned. The missing feeling?”

“Oh!” Phil laughed and stabbed the last piece of broccoli onto his fork. “That would be Marcy, our daughter.”

“You have kids?”

“Child,” Clint corrected. “Only the one.”

“Unless we were to count you,” Phil joked eating the green savoury vegetable.

He held up his hands in surrender, “guilty.”

“How did you manage to find time to raise her?”

“Well, it was more like she found them,” Steve added smothering his fries in ketchup.

“Yeah, I remember it…” Phil set his fork down and leaned back in his chair.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

He was walking through the office area when he saw him. Clint was sitting at a table with a small girl; both were smiling over shared sandwich triangles. She looked painfully shy, but happy to obviously be in the archer’s presence. Curious, Phil walked toward them.

“I like dogs,” she said and bit into her sandwich.

“Me too. But I must admit unicorns are my favourite.”

She gave him a funny look. “Unicorns aren’t real.”

“Yes they are,”

“No, unicorns are stories.”

“Where do stories come from?”

She shrugged and took another bite; her little legs swinging back and forth in a slow content manner.

“Books,” Phil added from the doorway. She looked up at him and froze; eyes huge and body became ridged with anxiety. Phil realised why she suddenly seemed so familiar: she was the little girl from the mission earlier that year. She had to have been about five now?

Clint turned and waved him over, “hey!” His smile was warm and inviting. He turned to her, “hey, this is who I was telling you about. This is Phil.”

The little girl seemed to relax a bit as he came over and sat next to Clint. “Hello,” she whispered and looked down at her plate.

“Hi,” he grinned and held out his hand slowly, very aware of her flinching at the gesture. “I’m Phil, what is your name?”

She shook his hand quickly and shrugged, “I don’t have one.”

Coulson frowned and look at Barton who was munching on his food. A crunchy peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich. He should have known.

He leaned his head toward him and mouthed, “orphan?” Clint nodded before they returned their attention to her with a smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear your argument.”

“We weren’t fighting,” she rushed out, the signs of a panic attack showing up all over her little body.

“No? I thought I heard something about unicorns.”

“They exist,” Clint stated firmly and smiled playfully.

“No they don’t,” Phil and the little girl said together and looked at each other. All signs of her distress faded as she smiled at him.

“See? She knows what’s up,” Coulson challenged the man next to him.

“What? No! She’s supposed to agree with me!”

“I like mermaids,” she said swinging her legs back and forth excited.

“Me too, they are very beautiful,” Phil agreed and took Barton’s sandwich from his hands.

“Hey!” he pouted as Phil took a monster bite from it. The little girl laughed as they playfully bantered back and forth.

They had made it a monthly thing of taking her out to lunch or to the park after that day.

 

 

\-------=-=-------

“Have you ever thought about having kids?” Clint asked as he lay on the couch, hands folded on his stomach, gaze pointed unfocused at the ceiling, and Odysseus sleeping peacefully at his feet. Phil was busy reading over and packing for the away mission he was scheduled to leave for the next morning.

“No, not really. I mean, I never thought I’d share a living space with anyone,” he confessed as he exited the bedroom to put his duffle bag near the door. “Why?”

Barton shrugged and reached out to snag a mission screen from the coffee table. Phil wasn’t convinced. He went over and sat near his hip, taking the electronic from the archer’s hands and set it back on the table. “Clint?” he laced their fingers together and kissed them. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” he sighed tiredly and avoided looking at him.

“Something’s bothering you,” he pressed. Coulson knew he wasn’t going to get a response easily, so he leaned forward and kissed Barton, sliding his arms around to snuggle into his chest. “Is it the little girl?”

Clint swallowed, keeping his eyes on the ceiling as he played with back of Phil’s neck. It was soothing for Coulson, but living with him for a little more than a year had taught him it was a way for the archer to calm his own troubled mind. “Have you ever wanted children?” Phil asked him and turned his head so that he could look up at his face.

It was a while before Clint answered. “I didn’t want to leave them alone. I was worried if…if something happened…” he shifted and turned his face toward the couch. “I…”

“Well, I’d be here still,”

“And that is what makes it worse now…I…I don’t want to leave you…”

Phil leaned up and pressed his lips to the side of his face. “You won’t.”

“I lost my parents at such a young age…in our line of work I just…I wouldn’t…” he huffed frustrated and scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

“Is this about the mission from Fury you turned down?” he asked quietly resting his chin on the archer’s chest.

“Yeah…” he sighed and wiped his mouth.

“You’d have come back.”

Clint looked sadly down at him. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” Phil leaned up and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “I do.”

They spent the rest of the night in silence just holding each other. Phil eventually got up and dragged Clint to bed. Odysseus crept after them to claim his usual spot at their foot. Neither of them slept well; both drifting off for only a moment before waking fitfully. Just as the sky had started lighten, Clint shifted to his side and looked at Phil.

“I took the mission.”

He nodded and placed his hand on the side of Barton’s face. “I know.”

Clint nodded and pressed Coulson’s palm to his lips. After that confession, he relaxed into the bed and slept with what little time they had left.

Phil didn’t bother with his regular morning schedule; instead he made pancakes. Clint set his own bag down at the door and went into the kitchen. They still hadn’t said anything, just picked at their food and held each other’s hand. When Phil’s watch went off, they rose and went to the door to say good bye. Phil wasn’t due to leave until after eight, but was restricted from knowing anything more than basic details of Clint’s mission. This prohibited him from even going to the hangar and seeing Barton off; which he thought was silly, but given the recent crazy events happening within the organisation, he supposed it was justified.

Phil held him close as they kissed. “Come back in one piece.”

“I’ll try.”

 

\-------=-=-------

He had made a choice. He was going to do it. Phil set the folder in front of Clint, who looked up from his cereal. “What is it?”

“Read it,”

The archer opened it and pushed his bowl aside. He scanned the pages in silence; his face calculating as his eyes shifting back and forth quickly. When he had looked the whole thing over he leaned back, stretching his arms and stared at Phil. “You sure?”

Phil nodded once. Clint nodded slowly and stood, “okay…let’s go talk to her.”

 

\-------=-=-------

She had said yes. She was over the moon with joy, bouncing around the small little room she shared with six other girls.

“Can I change my name?” she asked grabbing both of their hands and beaming at them, showing off her missing tooth. The orphanage had given her the name “Sally” but she said she didn’t like it. She had a different name waiting to try out every time they came to visit her.

“What would you like it to be?” Phil smiled as he watched her shaking with excitement before them.

“Marceline!”

“From Adventure Time?” Clint asked impressed. Phil didn’t completely understand that reference. It was a show he had never bothered to watch all the way, or really pay attention too, but Clint loved it to pieces.

“Yes!”

“It’s perfect,” the archer agreed, tucking some of her long wavy dark brown hair behind her ear. “But y’know it’s permanent once we sign the papers.”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” Phil said nervously and stepped toward the door, grateful at the feel of her squeezing his hand. She didn’t want to let go of his hand just as much as he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of hers. He smiled a bit more confidently, “to the office?”

“I’ll help her gather her things,” Clint offered, his face mirroring Phil’s inner thoughts.

They had all hugged then. Phil finally knew what it was like to be a family again and from the tears Barton tried so hard not to shed, it was apparent he felt the same. She moved in that night and settled in quickly. Her clearance code and official naming was established the next day. Marceline Rose Barton-Coulson.

Marcy was a joy. She called Phil ‘daddy’ and Clint ‘papa’. She loved Odysseus and hated to sleep in the dark. She enjoyed dinosaurs and called everyone ‘uncle’ or ‘aunt’, accept for Fury, whom she call ‘grandpa’ for some reason. When that had slipped from her mouth the two thought for sure they would lose custody and be thrown into shark infested waters, but to their surprise Fury had laughed and still didn’t seem to mind.

Their little ball of energy bounced around: brightening and stressing out their lives. She was perfect and a troublemaker. She was honest and kind and she hated green beans with a passion. She also loved the colour orange with all of her heart and coloured on her bedroom walls, much to Phil’s amusement and Clint’s distress.

After a time he had convinced the archer that it wasn’t too bad of a thing; but they made sure she understood that once it was there it was there until they painted over it and that drawing on any other wall was forbidden, or it was a direct trip to the timeout corner. She hated the timeout corner because she couldn’t play with Odysseus there.

And when Phil and Clint tucked her in at night, she’d hugged them both, telling them how much she loved them, and gave them big sloppy kisses. Odysseus had taken to sleeping in the room with her. Unless there was a thunderstorm; then they’d both run to the master bedroom and scuttle under the covers and into Barton and Coulson’s opened arms.

Yes, they couldn’t imagine how they had managed to live without her.

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

“She sounds wonderful,”

“She is,” the two agreed without hesitation.

“And you?” Michael directed to the soldier.

“Ah,” he laughed. “No, I don’t think I’ll be having children.”

“He doesn’t need any,” Clint waved a dismissive hand at him. “Marcy is constantly over at his and Nat’s anyways. She’s like their surrogate child.”

Steve shrugged, “she’s a great kid.”

Clint and Phil’s phones went off and they scrambled to answer them.

“Hello?”

“Congratulations you’re our hundredth caller!”

“Now?”

“All you have to do is answer this simple question and you win a trip to Disney!”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Who has two thumbs, is left-handed, and doesn’t give a fuck?”

“I don’t know. Should I call him?”

“That’s right! This guy.”

“I’ll do it,”

Clint rolled his eyes and sat upright in his chair, “Yeah, I can try and be there.”

“I’m on my way, good bye.”

“Sure, yeah…alright, got it, Fury is pissed. What’s new?” He turned the phone off and tossed it on the tray leaning back in his chair.

“Coffee run?” Phil inquired sympathetically.

“No,” he frowned and crossed his arms grumpy. “Caffeine adventure.”

“Oh, I apologise. I forgot going out to get caramel lattes requires your bow.”

“It requires stealth, personality, and a good-ass looking body,” he sassed and stood pocketing his phone and pointed his finger at Phil. “And f.y.i. Fury drinks white chocolate mochas with skim milk and whip cream, thank you very much.”

He held up his hands, “I’m obviously not bad-ass enough to know the details of this mastered skill.”

“Damn right you’re not!”

“Would you both leave before you forget you have jobs to do?” Natasha scolded coming over. She snagged Clint’s chair, pushing him out of the way before sitting and unfolded her napkin to drape across her lap.

“Well,” Phil sighed and turned to Mihailo with an extended hand. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Yes, it was an honour,” he shook it with an easy smile.

“Best wishes to your mission; we shall see each other around.”

“Bye,” Clint waved taking up the tray and heading for the door.

Coulson rolled his eyes and followed the one he had sworn to endure eternity with. At the exit he tossed Clint the keys just as the archer tossed him the Jell-O cup. “Don’t scratch Lola.”

“Don’t forget that’s the deed to me doing trash duty forever.”

Phil shook his head and turned down another hall. His Barton was too ridiculous for words sometimes.


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the final part to this fanfiction. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, bookmarked, and/or read. I really appreciate it. I hope all of the waiting has been worth it and that you all enjoy it.
> 
> \-------=-=------- Indicates a jump of time within the current line (past or present)  
> =-------===-===-------= Indicates the starting or end of a past memory or event.  
> If anyone is still confused on how things go (I've had some messages regarding this issue) please let me know and I will try and fix it. All mistakes are my own. I do not own the characters.

Marcy raced around the house with Odysseus at her heels. “I’m a superhero!” she cried and jumped up onto the couch and bounced over to the other side. “Flying to save the day! Pew! Pew! Pew! ”

“Marcy, stop putting your shoes on the couch,” Phil called from the kitchen as he flipped the chicken quesadilla over and set the spatula aside so he could mix the beans on the stove.

“JUSTICE NEVER SLEEPS!” she leaped and crashed into Phil’s oversized chair near the window. The impact made several things on the tables or walls rattle. She wiggled the cushion out from under her and tossed it down to jump onto it.

“Marceline!”

“Take that aliens! PEW!” She jumped on it again causing Odysseus to bark loudly and the timer, sitting on the small kitchen island, to fall to the ground.

“MARCELINE ROSE!” he shouted and slammed the wooden spoon on the counter frustrated. He moved the food to the back of the burners before covering his face with his hands and backed away from the stove to take a few calming deep breaths. Once his mind had cleared some, he realised instead of the usual carefree laughter or giggles that filled their home, there was a small sound of sniffles coming from the living room. He untied his apron, and ran around the counter to his little girl. She was curled up, sitting on the ground trying to stay as quiet as she could, with the ever faithful companion lying next to her emitting sympathetic whines with his paws over his nose.

Coulson bent down and grabbed her up, sitting down on the cushionless chair with her in his lap, rocking her back and forth. “I’m sorry! Daddy’s sorry. I’m sorry sweetie,” he kissed the side of her face and held her tighter. “I’m a meanie, I’m sorry. Shhhhh I’m sorry for shouting.”

“I’ll never play again!” she sobbed miserably and rubbed at her eyes. “I promise! Please don’t hate me!”

“No, love, I could never hate you!” he sat her up a bit to wipe some of her tears off with a tissue from the side table. “I’m just frustrated and I wrongly took it out on you. I wasn’t being very nice and it was so wrong of me. I’m sorry. The only wrong you did was keep your shoes on inside.”

“I’ll never wear shoes again!”

“No!” he chuckled a bit and pulled her close again to rock her for a time. “Nope, your feet would get cold outside.”

“I deserve them!”

“Now hush, that’s silly talk. You only need cold feet when it’s hot out.” Phil continued to sooth and apologise until she had cried herself out and settled down into his arms.

Once he had made her blow her nose a few times and her sniffles had almost subsided did she dare speak again, “Daddy?”

“Yes cupcake?”

“Why are you upset?”

He sighed heavily and rubbed one of his temples.

“Is it Papa?”

Coulson laughed and patted her back gently. “Yes.”

“I knew it,” she whispered and then sat up to look at him. “Is it about me?”

“No, no. It’s stuff involving work.”

She let out a heavy sigh of relief and cuddled into him. “Is he grounded?”

Phil couldn’t help laughing loudly at that. “Oh yes he is.”

“And time out chair?”

“Yep.”

“No dessert for a while.”

“That’s the rule.”

“Oh man…Papa must have done something really bad…”

“Well…” he reasoned and began fiddling with her hair. “I suppose so…” they looked at each other. “He broke a promise,” Phil whispered.

Marcy gasped and covered her face with both of her hands, “the Big One?” He nodded and she shook her head, “Oh Papa…no dessert for a year…”

 

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

“It’s a simple mission!” he yelled tossing the files down onto the table frustrated.

Phil bit his tongue and continued to wash the dishes, thankful Natasha had offered to take Marcy and Odysseus off their hands for the weekend so they could sort out some work and home related problems.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said softly and turned the water off.

“Why? I’ve done something like this before.”

Coulson sighed heavily drying his hands and turned to lean against the counter. “I just…have this feeling, okay?”

Clint went to him, pulling him close for a kiss, and then settled his hands upon the agent’s waist. Phil wrapped his arms around his neck and rested their foreheads together.

“I promise no more missions like this once I’m done. I’ll work for the main facility. Fury offered me a job overseeing some science project in the basement.” He moved to rub his hands along Phil’s arms knowing it drove the agent crazy and relaxed him at the same time. “I promise. No more dangerous missions.”

“I’m holding you to that, and if that doesn’t work I’ll get Marcy in here with her puppy eyes.”

They laughed and continued to hold each other for a while. Enjoying their much needed time alone by going out to eat at their favourite Chinese restaurant, followed by a long walk around the river, and cuddled on the couch to watch one of their favourite movies: _Moulin Rouge!_.  They did not speak of Clint’s mission again. Not even when it was time for him to leave. Clint had given Marcy an extra hug and kisses before she went off to school, and sat to watch the morning news with Odysseus. When it was time, neither of them could think of anything to say, so they held each other until Clint received the call.

\-------=-=-------

He was furious. Beyond that! If he could ignite things with his anger, the universe would be burning at that moment. He charged through the hospital, pushing open doors and sharply apologising to people who got in his way. He might be mad, but he was not rude.

Phil made it to the room were Barton was and slammed the door wide opened. Clint looked at him with tired pain-filled eyes.

“You bastard,” he gasped breathlessly, not realising until that moment how fast his heart was racing. He walked forward and slapped him across the face.

“I love you too,” he mumbled and rolled his head back to look at him. He held out a shaky hand and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Coulson broke then and shamelessly cried, gathering him up to hold him tightly, “you promised!”

“I’m sorry,”

“You promised you wouldn’t do another one! Why? WHY!?”

“I’m sorry Phillip, I’m so sorry.”

“I thought you’d died Clinton! I-I didn’t know how I would – I could – what would I – and Marcy!”

“Shhh,” Barton shifted so that he was now holding Phil as close as he could; biting down the pain stabbing in his body, and rubbed the agent’s back. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be mad. I won’t go on missions anymore.”

“Don’t say that! You –”

“I mean it this time,” he pulled him to the side so that the agent was resting against his shoulder and looking up at him. Clint brushed a cold soothing hand along his features and kissed his forehead. “Fury has transferred me to the nearby facilities. I’m working with Selvig now.”

He took a breath and began getting himself under control. “No more?”

“No more,”

Phil went to embrace him, but was stopped short by his phone ringing. It was Natasha. He answered it, and it was very obvious she was trying hard to sound neutral. He had asked her to pick up Marcy from school after they had received the call about Barton’s condition.

“Hey Phil, how are things at work?”

He was grateful for her discretion; the last thing they wanted to do was cause the little girl unnecessary worry. “Yeah, everything is fine now,” he sat up and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“Is he? That’s great.”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Would you mind watching her for a day or two?”

“No, we’ll be fine. I bought a new nail polish colour and I promised her ice cream and movies. Girl’s night! Maybe even a weekend?”

He laughed as he heard Marcy cheer over the other end before she took the phone. “I love you daddy!” she said, “Can I stay with Auntie Tasha?”

“I love you too, honey. Yes you may.”

“Can I talk to papa? Is he home for work?”

 He held the phone toward Clint. “Hey! I love you, rockstar,” he smiled and kissed the mouth piece of the phone.

“I love you papa!”

“Be good to your aunt,”

“I will!”

Phil pulled the phone back just as Natasha’s voice returned. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“Okay, make sure she does her homework.”

“It’s a Friday, she can do it later. Besides, homework is for parents, not awesome aunts. Bye,”

“Bye.”

Phil had stayed by Clint’s side for the rest of the weekend. On Sunday evening Marceline had come to visit, and was unhappily forced to do her homework while sitting in Clint’s lap. She grumbled and scribbled all over her work, but she finished her addition sheets and her daily journal.

“What’s that?” Clint pointed to a stick figure with a triangle off to the side.

“You,” she answered picking up a different shade of blue and began colouring the sky.

“Me!?”

“Yes, Auntie Tasha said you’re grounded. So there is your corner, and your cap.”

“Cap?”

“Bad kids wear paper caps,”

“Ah…”

She set her crayon down and carefully turned to face him. “Daddy says you almost died,” she said quietly with an odd look in her eye.

Barton sighed heavily, “yeah, tiger, I almost did.”

“I’m mad at you.”

“I’m mad at me too.”

“Papa,”

“Yes, star?”

The hesitant and troubling look that came to her made his chest ache. “Promise me something.”

 “Anything.”

She dropped her gaze and fiddled with the bottom of her shirt, “don’t do this anymore.”

“I have to work, bumblebee.”

“Not like this…” her voice dropped lower and Clint could tell she was holding back tears.

He pulled her into a bone crushing hug and kissed the crown of her head. “I’m not doing anything dangerous. Just paperwork and monitoring. Nothing bad.”

She shifted to look up at him, “nothing?”

“Nothing, tiger. I promise”

She held out her pinky. “Swear it.”

He hooked it with his, “I swear it. This is the Big One.”

“The Big One,” Marcy agreed with a smile and turned to finish her work.

After a hot dinner in fancy paper boxes, Marcy left with Natasha for a last girl’s night treat. Clint and Phil sat without speaking to each other and entertained themselves. Barton sighed half an hour later, turning away from the boring rerun on the TV to look at the agent, who was engrossed in some book, contently sitting in the chair next to his bed.

“Marcy and I talked.”

“Yeah?” he was in the middle of reading a great medieval fight scene and was thankful Hill had recommended this book to him. “About?”

“This.” It took Phil a moment to look at him, but when the archer knew he had his attention, he gestured to himself. “I promised her the same thing I promised you.”

“Good,” he nodded and went back to reading.

Barton sighed and flipped the channel. Five more minutes of not finding anything remotely interesting to watch had only made him even more nervous. What he had wanted to say didn’t come out. Every time he had wanted to say it, his words became jumbled and his palms sweated and he’d blurt the first stupid thing he could think of. Mostly it was him telling Phil something him and Marcy had done that they weren’t supposed to, like drink from the milk carton or sneak Hershey’s syrup on spoons over the sink. Clint shifted on the bed a few times and then finally gave a defeated huff and turned to him before he lost the nerve: “Marry me.”

Phil’s head snapped up from his book, “what?”

He licked his dry lips and tried again, “marry me?”

Coulson shrugged, “okay.”

He blinked confused. That was it? “Okay!?” he demanded.

“You want me to say ‘no’?”

“No! I thought you’d at least cry or jump up and down. Be emotional! Something!”

Phil set his book down, calmly rose, stared at Clint and then jumped up and down dramatically pretending to sob. He stopped, gave him a smug look. “Happy?”

“Yes,” he smiled and held out his hand, glad Coulson took it.

\-------=-=-------

It wasn’t until later that fall, once he’d been cleared from the hospital, that they had the ceremony. It was small, just a few friends. Neither of them had any living family members left who could have come anyways; no one but Marcy and Odysseus, who were their best dog and little lady for the affair.

She had been so excited, and confused, over the whole ordeal.

 

_“I thought you were already married?”_

_“Kind of, but we never had it on paper.” Phil explained as they sat at the table in the hospital cafeteria the day after Clint had proposed._

_“It was just for you two and now it’s for everyone?”_

_“Yeah, you can look at it like that,” he laughed. “Is that alright?”_

_“Yeah! Do I get a dress?”_

_“Yes,”_

_“Can I help plan it?”_

_“I can’t think of anyone better for the job,”_

_Marceline popped out of her chair and ran around to him, giving him a big hug. “I’m happy daddy, thank you!”_

_“No, thank you sweetheart.”_

 

She was a dream in light orange with purple and yellow flowers woven through her hair. Phil had a sudden pain in his chest and realised he was dreading the day he was going to end up back in a church and have to give her away. He looked at Clint who nodded understandingly and gave him a watery smile. When Marceline had reached them she gave them a hug, and took Odysseus to stand on the side until the rings were called for.

“With this ring I, Clinton Francis Barton, take thee, in sickness and in health, until you no longer wish to deal with my sorry behind. I promise to honour and cherish our love. I promise to be faithful to you and our love. I vow to never again take on a risky mission or force you to try sushi, even if it is delicious.”

“With this ring I, Phillip Jamiriquoi* Coulson, take thee, in sickness and in health, until you no longer wish to live with me. I promise to honour and cherish our love. I promise to be faithful to you and our love. And I vow to never work during Christmas or let you pick out ‘vacation spots’ again.”

They kissed, everyone clapped, and Marceline ran to hug them again. Phil had never known love or happiness as he did now. Clint knew years from now, he could look back and never need any other memory or feeling but the ones that moment held. This was more than either of them could have ever dreamed.

=-------===-===-------=

 

 

 

 “Hey,” Barton said coming up behind Phil’s chair and wrapping his arms around him.

“Hello,” he flipped a page in the cookbook he was currently reading through. He wrote down a few notes on the pad of paper, resting upon his knee, and turned another page.

“So I talked to the rest of the group.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” he sighed and straightened up, walking around to the front and knelt before him. “They said I don’t have to be a main player in it…if something seems too dangerous or isn’t just a simple routine thing, I can stay behind. If things become too much I can leave. I help with clean up, I help with survivors, I hep with paperwork, I get to stay an Avenger, and I keep my promise to you and Marcy.”

Phil was silent for a time before he looked up from the book and rubbed at his mouth. “I remember a time you said similar words when you were put in charge of guarding the Tesseract project.”

Clint bowed his head frustrated and then looked up at him, “I was the _only_ one then; this time there are at least five of them, and a few other would-be heroes have stepped up asking to join. In no time they’ll have an army and won’t need me,” he took Coulson’s hands, “look, I’m not special like they are. I just have some skills. I don’t have a fancy suit, or super strength, or an indestructible shield, or a radiation poison-mutation, or a big hammer; I just have some training from the circus and being a petty thief mixed with what little I could bother to learn from SHIELD. I want to be _useful_. I want to help them and do good.”

“But you have been for years,”

“No,” he shook his head and rubbed his temples. “I need too…” he sighed trying to find the words. “I…when I was…brainwashed,” he licked his lips and swallowed. “I did horrible things. I gave away secrets, I employed and bribed and killed and…I want to make up for it all. I can’t do it sitting at a desk stamping files and approving signatures. I _have_ to do this.” He looked up at him. “Please…Phillip…”

He leaned forward in his seat and kissed Clint. Taking his face within his hands he continued to press his lips all over the archer’s features to try and chase his doubts and fears away, until he had properly considered his request. “Alright…” he whispered once he had finished and rested their foreheads together. “But please don’t put me through that again.”

“I won’t.”

 

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

“Barton has been compromised.” Fury’s voice had turned Phil’s body numb. He thought he had heard him wrong, but one look at everyone around him and he knew better. He took a deep breath and responded.

“What do you want me to do, sir?”

“Initiate project A.”

He nodded and turned away, going a distance from the car as he tried to control himself. What was he going to do? How would he break the news to Marcy? Clint had promised not to go on any more risky missions, and he had kept his word for almost three years, what changed now?

There were too many questions and he was starting to feel sick. The last thing he remembered, before he passed out, was vomiting and Agent Hill’s face standing over his telling him things would be alright.

Be alright? Clint was compromised. His world was falling apart.

=-------===-===-------=

 

 

 

Phil sat up with a start and gripped his chest. His heart was beating out of control and he was shaking slightly. Clint was beside him in a flash, the side table light already on and his arms securely and comforting around him. “I’m here, I’ve got you,” his whispered rubbing his shoulder and side soothingly.

Phil gripped the arm across his chest tightly and allowed the archer to slowly lead them back down. “I had it again,” he panted trying to catch his breath still, “the dream.”

“I heard you muttering before you woke up,” he yawned and rested his head upon Phil’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head and licked his lips. “I want…I want to hear about yours.”

“Hm?”

“You’ve never…” he took a deep breath and shifted so that he could slide his arm under and around Clint’s side. “You’ve never spoken much about what happened…the time in between New York and when I came back.”

Clint stiffened for a second and then forced himself to relax again. “There is nothing much to tell.”

Phil turned his head to the side to look at him. “You tell that type of story the best.”

He sighed and moved a bit to get comfortable before whispering, “I couldn’t tell her. Nat had Pepper do it…because I lost it when I saw your body on the gurney.”

 

 

 

=-------===-===-------=

 “Auntie Pepper!” Marceline cried running into his arms. She was almost seven now, a little taller than the time Pepper had seen her before, and she was losing teeth left and right. She was a regular tomboy, constantly covered in mud or grass, and wore her scrapes and bruises with pride.

“Hey,” she said picking her up and held her close. Marcy’s smile had only chased away her problems for a moment before they settled heavily back upon her. She was still so little…what was she going to do?

Marcy pulled away from her and frowned in her ever present intuitive manner. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Pepper sighed and carried her toward the conference room where everyone was being debriefed over the Tesseract issue. “I have some bad news.”

“I didn’t mean to break it!” she began. “I was going to tell papa and daddy!”

“No it’s not that,” she chuckled and tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

“Oh…”

She stopped at the door and frowned, trying to control her shaking. There was no easy way of doing this. “Something happened.”

“Something bad?”  Pepper nodded and Marcy turned her face up to look at her. “It’s okay Auntie Pepper, whatever it is, it will get better.”

“Oh princess…” she exhaled and shook her head, “I offered to tell you, because papa couldn’t. Daddy…your daddy was hurt,” she finished trying to hold back a sob.

Marcy gave her a calculating look as she slowly processed what the older woman had said. “He’s been…hurt before…so has papa…”

Pepper knew she was a brilliant girl. She knew Marcy was already putting the pieces together and had figured it out. She shook her head unable to keep the tears from slipping down her face and whispered, “Not this time.”

Marceline didn’t say anything. She just leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Pepper’s neck as she began to cry. She held Marcy close as the little one sobbed into her shoulder, wishing desperately for a way she could fix this. There was no solution. Nothing accept being there for Marcy right at that moment. Pepper squeezed her eyes shut and wished with all of her heart.

\-------=-=-------

The house was quiet.

Clint stared at the empty chair near the window. It was Phil’s. It…had…it would always belong to Phillip. He hadn’t slept in the bed in nearly a month. That was their bed. It had been too cold, too still. No soft snores or cute little mutters the agent would make as he dreamed. Clint had loved to stay up and watch him sleep. He was adorable. He had…he would always be adorable to Clint.

Marceline came out of her room and went up to embrace him. She had taken to doing that a lot. Not that she had never hugged him before, it was one of her favourite things to do, apart from draw or play pretend; however, it always seemed like she was suddenly in his arms every time he blinked recently. Neither one of them spoke much. They would enter a room and gravitate toward the other for comfort. She hadn’t slept in her own bed either. She opted to sleep on the couch with Barton, the two of them cocooned in the blankets, holding the other tightly, trying not to cry and squeeze the pain with their hugs.

“I lost another tooth,” she mumbled, her tearful face buried in his side.

He leaned down and picked her up. “Yeah?”

“Daddy said to always make a wish before giving it to the tooth fairy,” she sniffled wrapper her arms around his neck.

“Don’t let anyone know what it is, remember?” he wiped her face dry with his hand.

She nodded. “I remember.”

He kissed her forehead and carried her to the couch. “No straws for a while.”

“No straws,” she agreed quietly as they sank into the familiar leather that always smelled like Phil. Odysseus, who seemed to really slow down after he realised Phil wasn’t coming home, limped up onto the cushions and snuggled near them. It was going to be another long night.

“Did you brush whatever teeth you have left?” His joke ended up flat and no one felt like laughing, even in the awkward silence that followed it.

“Yes, papa,” she replied after a moment.

“Good girl,” he kissed her forehead again and pulled the covers over them. “Make your wish and put the tooth box under the pillow.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, mouth moving silently in earnest wishing, before she kissed it and set it inside the tiny little white box and slipped it under the pillow.

“Night papa,” she whispered burying her face into his chest.

“Night Marcy,” he rubbed her back until her breathing evened out, and then let himself fall into his thoughts.

\-------=-=-------

 “Do you believe in magic?” Fury had asked him one day as he was finishing up paperwork for a case the Avengers team had just comeback from.

“I used to,”

“What made you stop?”

Clint frowned and looked at the director, who stared sadly back at him. He was being serious…that wasn’t new, but the subject was. “My brother,” he replied with a heavy sigh and sat on the corner of his desk. “My brother died, and I wished and prayed on everything for him to come back. He was the only thing I had left in the world. It never happened, so I stopped believing.”

“But you encourage Marcy to?” Fury leaned against the door curiously.

“I want her to live a happy life. Phil…always wanted her to have a strong imagination and a solid realistic foundation. I’m going to give her that the best and only way I can.”

Fury nodded and then held out his hand for the paperwork. Clint gave them over and watched him leave. That was the last time he saw the director for a while.

\-------=-=-------

It started with a strange card. An unaddressed unsigned postcard from Wisconsin. The big orange moose in the picture was ugly, in Clint’s opinion, but gorgeous to Marcy. All it said was: “Miss you.”

He thought it was sent to the wrong address, since there was no signature, no name, and no way to discern the typed out small message. He was going to toss it in the trash, but something in Marceline’s eyes and the tilt of her head said she knew something he didn’t. He let her have it, and went about his life, assuming she suddenly had taken an interest in the animal or the colour orange. She tapped it the wall near her bed, right next to the crayon stick figure drawing of her family she had made so many years ago.

Next it was a small box several weeks later. It was on the day that she chose to be her birthday, and inside where porcelain figurines of her favourite animals. They were beautiful: hand painted, delicate, picked out with care, and lovingly wrapped. There was also a card, same as before. No return address, nothing specific about it, and the same typewriter stamped letters, only this time reading: “With all my love and heart, Happy Birthday. Miss you both.”

He thought it was from the gang or Fury himself. He was kind of upset about it, but something in Marceline’s smile and the way she hugged him and told him everything was going to be alright, made him think she knew something he was obviously missing. He helped her set them up on her shelf and watched her tape the card next to the one of that ugly moose. She kissed it and then ran to him and asked him if they could go to the movies. They hadn’t gone anywhere in a long time, so he agreed. They went to see a superhero flick. Clint didn’t really like it, but he was glad she was smiling again. Even if he couldn’t share her happiness, the fact that she was able to be in that state, after so many weeks of tears, was all that mattered.

The last strange thing they had received was during the S.H.I.E.L.D. office Christmas party. It was a card with snowmen all over it. Same as the others; plain text, nothing to indicate a source or if it was really for them, just: “Missing you both dearly. All of my love. Merry Christmas.”

He was super pissed off now, and wanted to punch the intern that had given it to them, but something in the way Marceline had hugged him after she had opened it made him pause and drop the clinched fist he had raised. This wasn’t like the hugs they had shared before. They were desperate tight ones that begged: ‘ _help hold me together. Keep me grounded. Let me know there is something still here, still worth it all_.’ Her hug was warm, comforting, loving. It made him cry and hold her tighter. It was: ‘ _I need you to trust me. Trust this_.’

When they returned home, there was a giant package sitting in the middle of the living room marked: “Do not open until Christmas!” Marcy had pushed the box toward the tree and had willing gone to sleep in her bed for the first time in ages. Clint tucked her in and went to lie on the couch. It was lonely, and quiet. He was cold, but he could still feel her hug.

“I wish you were here…” he whispered into the night air and rolled over to press himself closer to the back of the couch.

The next morning he woke to the smell of pancakes and bacon. He hadn’t woken up to that scent in forever. He rolled off the couch and padded to the kitchen groggy and sore. Marcy was standing on a chair near the stove with another man. Clint froze and blinked several times.

“Papa!” she cried jumping down and running to hug him. “Happy Christmas!”

“Phillip?” he breathed as the stranger turned to face him. He was in a light blue button up dress shirt, no tie, and grey jeans. Phil nodded and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel before moving the pan to a cool burner.

Clint was going crazy. This couldn’t be real…this wasn’t happening… “Marcy, why don’t you go and wake Aunt Tasha up? Tell her breakfast is ready?” he suggested still a bit flabbergasted. She agreed and ran off, leaving them alone. Clint was numb to the core.

“You’re shaking,” Phil commented quietly, and went to him, taking his hands and brought them to his lips to kiss them.

He snatched them back as if he had been burned. Adrenaline raced through him quickly, making him itch. He slapped Phil across the face and cried out when his hand actually made contact with warm human flesh.

“Oh my god!” He was losing it. He could feel it. “This isn’t real,” he staggered back toward their bedroom. He hadn’t been in it for a long time. Stepping across the threshold hurt him. This was it. He was crazy. This was how he was going to spend the rest of his life. He would lose Marcy and end up in an asylum.

“Clinton please,” he begged following him. “Stop.”

“No!”

“Stop! Please, just stop before you hurt yourself.”

Clint stumbled at the door and fell, scooting across the floor backward as Phil stooped to help him up. “No! Stay back! This isn’t real!” he covered his face with his arms and attempted to hold in the hysterical sobs he could feel rising up inside of him. “This is a bad dream. This isn’t real,” he kept repeating over and over again. How many times had he thought he’d caught a glimpse of someone in the subway or street and ran to them, hopeful, only to be disappointed? How many times had he thought he’d seen him entering or exiting the office? When he had been in the house alone and swore he heard Phil laughing from the kitchen or complaining as he tidied things up around the living room?

Phil gathered him in his arms and held him tightly. “I’m sorry. It’s my turn to be sorry and make promises.”

“You were dead! I saw your body. You were cold! You were so cold…”

“It was fake. The body wasn’t real. It was a dummy. I did it under orders. It was a desperate and last attempt to get everyone to work together, I’m sorry.”

Clint couldn’t even bring himself to ask why? He just couldn’t wrap his head around it. “It has been months!”

“I know, I wanted to come back sooner, but Fury said there were problems. It would have made the discord within the group worse. I’m sorry. Oh Clint I’m so sorry!”

Clint allowed himself to finally give in and wrap his arms around him, burying his face in his shoulder. “You’re real,” he sobbed; a blender mess of anger, joy, and fear splattered his insides.

“I’m real…do you want to hit me again?”

“No. Yes.” He pulled back and slapped Phil, this time gently, and pulled him in for a deep loving kiss. “Don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” Phil promised taking the archer’s left hand to press his lips to the silver Tolkien ring on his finger before kissing him again. Clint tackled him to the ground, and held him; enjoying the sensation of an embrace he’d thought he’d never have the chance to feel again.

The front door opened to the sound of scampering feet racing toward their room. “He’s here!” Marcy cried and jumped down upon them, Natasha close on her heels.

“Marcy I don’t think dad–” she came up short and covered her mouth to stop herself from screaming. “You!” She pointed a shaky finger at him.

“I have a lot of apologising to do,” he agreed as he and Clint wrapped their arms around their little ball of joy, who was babbling about pancakes and frogs and how she knew the cards were from him and how many teeth she had lost and on and on and on.

They eventually made it to the kitchen to finish cooking, and eat a pleasant breakfast.

“Can we open presents now!?” Marcy begged bouncing around in her chair.

“Yes dear,” Phil stood to stack the plates and set them in the sink as she took off toward the living room pretending to be Iron Patriot.

“I’ll go grab the ones out of my apartment,” Natasha stood and rubbed Clint’s shoulder in support as she made her way out.

“Don’t you want to go open presents?” Phil asked as he started cleaning the silverware.

Clint shook his head and went to stand behind him, wrapping him in his arms and pulled him away from the sink. “Leave it,” he whispered into his shoulder.

“That’ll just be more for later,”

“So?” he let Phil turn in his arms and held him closer, letting one hand trace circles on Phil’s neck. “Just hold me. That’s all I want.”

“You’re not even curious as to what’s inside the giant box?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t want to watch Marcy open up her gifts?”

“She’ll wait for us. She wouldn’t want to miss showing you what I got her. Now shush and just hold me until Nat gets back.”

That Christmas was the best any of them could remember. Nat and Marcy exchanged matching BFF necklaces and other girly best friend things; Clint received a new kitchen knife set from Natasha; Phil got a coloured picture of the ocean from Marcy; Nat was impressed with the stylish boots from Clint; Odysseus was happy with a nice big bone; and Marcy was thrilled and in love with her little composition bow, much to Phil’s sudden dread and Clint’s amusement.

Marceline and Clint opened the giant box from Phil together. Inside was a jumbled assortment of things: several journals, scraps of paper, postcards, magnets, cups, key chains, rocks…

“What’s all this?”

“Fury had me do several undercover missions around the globe, so this is my journey.” He reached in and took out a couple scraps of paper. “Every time I saw something that reminded me of you both, I bought it, wrote about it, sketched it out, or picked it up. Whenever I thought of you, I’d write it down. And all of these little bits of paper are apologises for every day I was away.”

“I like this shell!” Marcy cried grabbing up a barnacle encrusted fragile looking sea conch.

“I knew you would.” Phil laughed and then held out the papers in his hand for Clint.

He took them to look at. Sure enough each one had: “I’m sorry,” “I’m an idiot, I’m sorry,” “I’ll be home soon, please forgive me,” “Fury says three more, I’m sorry” and a dozen other combinations written all over them.

“This is a lame gift,” Clint muttered and tossed them aside. Phil frowned a bit confused and insulted. “I’m so angry at you right now…but you…” he leaned forward and kissed the agent, “I only wanted this…that was my Christmas wish…”

\-------=-=-------

Clint was thrashing in his sleep. It had been a week since Phil had come back and the poor archer was plagued with constant nightmares. He’d sometimes be still, his breathing even; other times he’d be shouting and sobbing, fighting the air viciously. Regardless of what he would be doing beforehand, he always woke with a sharp gasp and sat up, searching in the dark and the sheets for that familiar warm body.

Phil would wait, see if Clint could find him before he’d open his arms and let him slide into a tight hug. Whisper soft words to calm him down, promise him it wasn’t a dream and that he was still there, and hold him until sleep returned for them both. Sometimes he’d have to turn on a light and let Clint look at him until he drifted off.

This time he opted to move close to Clint first. He wrapped his arms around him from behind and kissed his shoulder and neck soothingly. “Hey, shhhh,” he pulled him close until they were spooning and kissed his ear. “Wake up babe…it’s just a dream.”

Clint jerked a little and panted heavily, “Phillip?”

“I’m here,” he kissed his cheek. “It was just a bad dream.”

“Don’t leave me,” he begged not even bothering to hold back his tears.

“I’m not going to. I promise.”

“Is this what it felt like when I returned from missions and instead of running from the plane to greet you, you’d had to run to find me in a hospital?” he managed after a while.

“Yeah, probably.”

“I’m sorry for ever doing that to you.”

“And I’m sorry for faking my death.”

“Next time don’t expect to be welcomed back.”

“Next time I hope I’m ancient and pass peacefully. I expect I’ll be looking for you in Heaven rather than travel the globe.”

Clint laughed ruefully and licked his lips. “Yeah, sorry to disappoint, but I think we’re destined for separate locations there.”

“Nah, you’ll get into Heaven. You’re a good person.”

Clint rolled over to touch Phil’s face. “What if I did end up in Hell?”

“Then I’d jump off a cloud and pray I landed in the right location.” He turned his face to press his lips to Clint’s palm.

“You’d sacrifice your pretty wings to burn with me?”

“I’d sacrifice the world to be with you.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” he leaned forward and kissed him. “I’d do the same if you end up in Hell.”

“Thanks, babe,” he rolled his eyes with a smile.

“No problem,” he mumbled settling back to sleep.

=-------===-===-------=

 

 

 

“I never knew it was that hard,” Phil confessed once Clint had finished his tale. “I knew it would be, but not like that…”

“It was worse. Some days I couldn’t get up.” He swallowed and then brushed his fingers along Phil’s cheekbone. “I didn’t do a very good job of staying strong and taking care of Marcy…” he confessed sadly

“You did the best you could, and better,” he reassured and took Clint’s hand to kiss his palm, as he always did when they were like this. “Why did you never tell me any of this before? I’ve asked you a dozen times.”

Clint shrugged, “I guess I wasn’t ready to tell you everything…”

“Well I’m glad you did,” he pressed his lips to the archer’s palm once more before making his way up Clint’s arm, pulling him in closer and holding him tightly. “Will you accept ‘I’m sorry for faking my death’ pancakes in the morning?”

“Chocolate chip?”

“Yes,”

He smiled and nuzzled their noses together. “Only if I can make a plate of ‘I’ll always be a pain in your ass but make you still fall in love with me’ turkey bacon.”

“I don’t think we have any left.”

“What?”

“I think Marcy used it all when she tried to bring us breakfast in bed last weekend. Burned most of it.”

“I knew we should have returned her years ago. Wasting bacon...”he muttered unhappily with a pout.

Phil laughed and slapped his arm playfully. “You wouldn’t. Not even if she broke your bows and ruined your favourite pair of socks.”

“Don’t tempt me. I happen to love those socks. They bring me good luck.”

“Yeah?” he said squishing Clint’s face, to purse his lips a bit more, with his thumb and first two fingers, leaning in to kiss him. “Well, have them bring us a good chunk of money and early retirement next, okay?”

“You can’t tell the socks what to do. They work in mystical ways. I do not even understand them.”

“Shut up…”

“…make me…”

\-------=-=-------

“You want to what?” Clint asked face scrunched up in confusion and repulsion, as he set the stack of plates on the table for dinner.

“You heard me, keep it down,” Phil hissed looking toward Marceline’s room as he put the plates in their proper places.

“But we’ve already got one!” he whined like a spoiled child. “And we were just talking about getting a refund yesterday!”

“I said keep it down,” he pecked his lips and patted his backside as he reached past him for the bowls.

“Why another?”

Phil shrugged as he set the salad bowls off to the side, “because we didn’t get to see her as a baby. She was older, and now that we are both working desk jobs and things are settling down again, I thought…” he trailed off and shrugged again.

“But they poop!”

“And you don’t?”

“And they cry!”

“Alright mister desert eyes,”

“And they are tiny, and need things,”

“Because Marcy still doesn’t need things now that she is almost nine.”

“Oh god! She’s going to start wanting more things! AND BOYS!”

“Clint!”

“We’re going to have to beat them off with a stick,”

“Oh please,” he rolled his eyes.

“Or I could shoot them with my bow,” he pondered and then messed up his hair frustrated, “BOYS!”

“Clinton!” he shushed him and they both looked toward the closed bedroom door and then back at each other.

“But boys!” he whined and flailed his arms.

“She can take care of herself. You gave her a bow and archery lessons, remember,” he sassed and turned to remove the stir fry from the stove and put it into a large glass bowl.

“Ugh! I hate myself!” he put his hands on his face and sat in his chair heavily.

“So can we adopt another?” he asked hopefully and set the bowl of steaming food down on the table along with a loaded salad.

“Fine…” he mumbled.

Phil kissed the top of his head as he removed his apron. “Thank you,” he whispered and went to get Marcy for dinner.

“Yeah, yeah…” he smiled watching him walk away, knowing there was no chance he could have ever said no to him.

When they told Marceline a few weeks later, she was ecstatic to say the least.

\-------=-=-------

Several months of looking around and four different interviews later, they finally found someone who was willing to negotiate for them to adopt their child. The name she had given them was ‘Anna’ and that was all she really would tell them, unless it was medically necessary. She was as healthy as she could be, ate all of the right foods when she managed, seemed intelligent enough, and had never done anything harder than a few days of total drinking and a little bit of weed on the side before she conceived. When it came to the father though, she’d go all dreamy eyed and say he was from Europe. Where, she never knew. It was her magical one night fling she’d cherish forever. The final deciding factor for why they had asked her to choose them to care for her child was because she was terminally ill. She had been before she became pregnant and did not know until it was too late.

They were more than grateful she had accepted them and promised to comply with her final wishes. A rainy Tuesday in May brought about her labour, and after eighteen hours of waiting around she called them into her room, said her farewells and thanked them. Afterward, a round nurse directed them to the adjacent room and made Phil sit before bringing them the baby.

“What is it?” Clint asked looking down at it.

“It’s a baby,”

“Yeah but why is it all wrinkly and pink?”

“You try being submerged in warm amniotic fluid for nine months and see how you turn out,”

“I did and I’m glad I don’t remember it,” he squinted down at him and poked at the tiny thing. “Is it alive?”

“He’s sleeping,”

“He’s squishy,” the tiny hand reached out and gripped his finger as the little one shifted. Clint stared wide-eyed as if it was going to suddenly transform into a wild beast and bite him.

“You can relax,” Phil laughed. “He’s just shifting in his sleep.”

Clint wiggled his trapped index finger and watched the little baby for a bit. “What are we naming it?”

“Him,” he corrected softly. “We are naming him after my father and someone from your family, just like what we did with Marcy. You and she got the first name, my grandmother got the second.”

“So what’s _his_ name?”

“Sebastian,”

“The crab?”

“No,”

“Oh,”

“Who do you want the middle name to be after?”

Clint was silent for a while. “Bernard.”

“Okay, would papa like to hold little Sebastian Bernard?”

Clint hesitated for a moment before he let Phil hand the small new-born over. The instant he was holding the child’s full weight his body relax and he felt something inside of him click. It was love, different than the kind he felt for Phil. It was the kind he felt for Marcy; the kind that drew him in to save her those three? Four? Almost, five or six years ago. Wow time had flown by…

“You’re going to hate us when you get older,” he said rubbing a thumb over the small ducky fuzz of hair on his soft little head. “Sebastian Bernard Barton-Coulson, oh man you’re going to need a special bubble sheet come exam time.”

Phil laughed. “What do you want to call him for short?”

“Midget,”

“Clinton,” he warned with a glare.

He shrugged, “I guess it will come in its own time.” Sebastian moved a bit in his arms, causing him to panic and freeze. Clint stared down at him with wide eyes as he gave a small yawn and stretched in the archer’s arms. Clint’s heart ached. How could he have ever thought he could say no to this? “You’re so precious,” he whispered and leaned forward to press his lips to the baby’s forehead.

There was a knock on the door and Nat poked her head in. “Marcy wants to know when she can come in.”

“Now is fine,” Phil smiled at her and stood from the rocking chair as the wild child with long crazy hair burst into the room.

“Let me see him!” she whispered remembering she had to be quiet around babies.

“Sit down and you can hold him, but you have to be –”

“‘Gentle and still,’ I know, now let me see him!” She plopped herself down into the hospital rocker and held out her arms impatiently. They transferred him to her and she stilled and stared at him in wonder. “He’s squishy,” she whispered completely amazed. “Was I like this when I was little?”

“Probably, be thankful you don’t remember it,” Clint muttered and sat in the chair next to her so he could lean in and make sure her arms didn’t give out.

“He’s so small. What’s his name?”

“Sebastian.”

“The crab?” Clint looked up at Phil with a knowing smile. Two guesses who she took after.

“No, after your grandfather.”

“Oh…granddad or grandpa?”

“Dad,”

“Okay,” she nodded smartly and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before smiling down at him. “Well Sebastian, we had to move so you could live with us, but this house is bigger. You’re going to love Odysseus. He’s fluffy, but old, so you’ll have to be nice to him. You get your own room. I left the bottom half of the walls blank so you could draw on them too. I had to leave my drawings behind, but Aunt Tasha went in and took out the section of the wall that I drew when I first got there.” Clint and Phil both looked up at the assassin who was standing at the door trying to look innocent.

“He yawned!” she whispered earnestly bringing their attention back to their two kids.

Their kids.

They looked at each other and smiled, reaching for each other’s hands.

Their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **11.09.2013 I forgot to put this as a note:** The reason why Phil's middle name is "Jamiriquoi" is because [Clark Gregg tweeted once](https://twitter.com/clarkgregg/status/319987399012806656) that that was what the "J" stood for. I figured I'd honour this character decision.


End file.
